


No Fate

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure, Terminator
Genre: Crack, Drabbles, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as Douglas teased Martin, he'll always be there for him. Why? "Because I'm from the future," Douglas said as he reloaded his shotgun. "One day you will lead the revolution. And I am here to make sure you live to do so."</p><p>A Terminator/CP fushion.</p><p>A series of drabbles based off a prompt in the Cabin Pressure kink meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Martin was a child.

 

Douglas knew calling a man in his thirties a child was crude, unfortunately he couldn’t help but compare the Martin Crieff of today to the Martin Crieff of tomorrow.

 

The man Douglas knew in the future was well into his seventies. A confident man, a strong man, a man Douglas was more than willing to go to the end of the Earth for. The _boy_ Douglas knew here in the present had none of those qualities of his future counterpart.

 

Martin had little self-confidence, could barely give a command without stuttering. And for the love of pete, _cried_ when someone gave him lip. Douglas had no idea how someone like Martin would eventually turn into the resistant leader of the human race.

 

Of course, it was not as if he didn’t question Martin’s orders in the future. When Douglas was given the mission to go back in time, he had protested. “I’m nearly fifty,” he said to his General. “Surely it would be best to send someone younger and not suffering from premature arthritis.”

 

Martin smiled at him. Despite his age, his eyes were as sharp as ever. “I picked you, because I trust you above all else. Will you do this for me, Douglas?”

 

“Of course,” Douglas had said without hesitation. He was wlling to die for Martin. How could he rufuse? “Anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about early twenty-first century England, Douglas learned quickly, getting access to guns was not as easy as he thought.

 

He knew plasma rifles were not invented yet and grenades were definitely out of the question. It seemed the only people who needed weapons were farmers, but only for hunting and scaring off wolves. As an ‘average citizen,’ if Douglas bought anything more elaborate than the standard shotgun, suspicions were immediately raised.

 

Thus, the smuggling.

 

Oh sure, Arthur and Carolyn thought he did it merely for the fun and money. What they didn’t know Douglas was slowly making contacts, exchanging names, and pulling weapons by the crate full.

 

The only problem now, Douglas frowned as he looked over a new shipment of AK-47’s, was how was he going to persuade Martin to learn how to use one of these?


	3. Chapter 3

On his thirteenth birthday, Douglas decided to send himself a present.

He wasn’t sure how his younger self was going to react to getting a package from an unknown source. There’ll be no note, no return address. Just a book on edible plants.

He seriously doubted the teenager would even bother with the book. Better safe than sorry, Douglas knew.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wip artwork: http://tewi.us/tegaki/dblog.php?u=102897&e=1584179

It was amazing how little of the war changed Arthur.

 

Douglas thought the experience of watching nearly three billion deaths would definitely kill that man’s cheer. It certainly made him less idiotic, maybe, but Arthur’s grin and optimism has kept so many children from panicking, has prevented so many suicides. He was a God send.

 

Arthur was not a soldier, that was evident since day one. And since most of his skills were either chauffeuring or making coffee, people have long debated if it was even worth keeping him around, to bother wasting food and water on him. Though Martin severely made his orders clear that Arthur would not be touched, it looked as if people were willing to break that order. It was only going to be a matter of time before someone snapped and took matters into their own hands.

 

Arthur never got an official title. He was simply known as ‘Arthur’ though many referred to him as ‘teacher’ or ‘professor.’ It was purely accidental how he became the educator among them all, teaching the young their ABC's.

 

“You should go into teaching,” Douglas suggested carefully one sunny afternoon. They were sitting outside in front of a small family business run cafe; an apology to Arthur for calling him a 'clot' all day. It always came a shock to Douglas to able to have coffee out in the open like this.”I think you’ll be really good at it.”

 

Arthur blushed. “You’re just being nice,” he grinned into his tea cup. “I can’t teach. I’m not smart-“

 

“I’m not saying you have to teach rocket science. Children like you, they like to listen to you.”

 

The younger man shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I mean… I like working for MJN-“

 

“You can’t be working here forever,” Douglas emphasized. He won’t tell Arthur Carolyn will die from a stroke in two years time. He considered this as a blessing, glad to know the woman he came to know as ‘boss’ won’t be around to witness the war. “Consider the future, Arthur. I think you’ll be a _great_ teacher.”

 

Arthur’s blush grew redder. “I’ll… think about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Some may berate the slow pace Douglas was going about to prepare the future leader of the human race. Douglas would tell them, “I’d like to see you do better.”

 

The facts were simple: Douglas had no proof. How do you convince a thirty year old man of the impending apocalypse without sounding like an insane cartoon character? In the beginning Douglas tried to convince Martin into taking a few extra courses, perhaps a self-defense class or a wilderness class.

 

“ _Why?”_ Martin asked. “I’m not planning to fight anyone… or go camping anytime soon.”

 

“For fun,” Douglas shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Maybe you’ll learn something useful out of it.”

 

“Hmmm… maybe,” Martin sighed. “That sounds pretty cool, but I don’t have the time. Or the money.”

 

The General had told Douglas snippets of his youth, of the years before the War. He wasn’t too keen on certain subjects, but Douglas did remember how Martin once described his constant lack of funds.

 

Douglas did play around with the idea of just kidnapping Martin. The next time they fly to Mexico City, knock the poor Captain out and make their way to South America. Though Douglas would try his best to bring Arthur with him, he was a sacrifice Douglas was willing to make.

 

Unfortunately most of MJN's trips consisted of France, Spain, or New York. None were ideal destinations to take Martin to as most of North America and Europe were destroyed in the beginning of the War.

 

But as one year passed and Douglas still hadn’t made any progress with Martin, he realized being subtle was not the way to go. It was time to be blunt.

 

Martin froze in his seat. He stared wildly down at the object Douglas had just slammed in front of him. “Is that… a gun?”

 

“Yes,” Douglas said. It was one of the first things he picked up for himself. He carried it around everywhere he went. “This is a 9 mm semi-automatic Browning. It’s not loaded. I want you to try to take it apart.”

 

Martin threw him a look. “Douglas-“

 

“Martin. Take apart the gun.”

 

There was no room for negotiation in his voice. Martin looked as if he wanted to argue more, but it seemed curiosity was getting the better of him. Hesitantly, he picked up the weapon. He held it loose in his hands, telling Douglas this was very first time he’d ever held a weapon. Shit.

 

Martin slowly maneuvered the gun, his finger twitching over the trigger, not fully touching. Douglas let him explore, up until Martin stupidly pointed the barrel at his own face.

 

Douglas forced the gun down. “Don’t you _ever_ point a gun in your own face.”

 

Martin blushed. “Yeah, but I thought you said it was unloaded.”

 

“Still not a good idea. Can’t let you pick up bad habits.”

 

“Can’t?” Martin echoed, confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

 

“Take apart the gun.”

 

The young man huffed in frustration, his jaw tightening. Again, he didn’t fight, but Douglas knew if he pushed him like that again, he would lose him.

 

Slowly, with Douglas’ occasional guidance, Martin systematically took apart the gun. The hesitation that was on Martin’s eventually drained away to pure concentration as he placed each separated part on the table. Truth be told, Douglas found it strangely fascinating, watching his future leader like this. He had yet to gain the muscle memory, though the potential was there. Martin was a goddamn natural.

 

When Martin was finished, he raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Well?’ it said.

 

Douglas pulled out a rag and oil. “Now, I’m going to teach you how to clean this.”

 

“Douglas!” Martin cried out, standing up abruptly from his chair. “What is the meaning of this? Why do you want me to know this?”

 

“You should learn the basics of handguns, Martin.”

 

“What? _Why?_ ”

 

Douglas almost told him right then and there. Because in less than three years time, a supercomputer is going to declare nuclear war between the United States and Russia. Within a day three billion will be killed and the rest of humanity will be on its way of being wiped out. And it’s only because of _you,_ Martin, that keeps us going from extinct. But you can only do that if you’re prepared.

 

Instead, he said, “You know what the scouts say: Always prepared.”

 

“You were never a scout,” Martin muttered softly. He shook his head. “No, sorry, I don’t feel comfortable about this. Put that weapon away, Douglas. This is inappropriate.”

 

“Martin-“

 

 _“Put it away._ Or else I will report you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Douglas technically first met Martin when he was eighteen years old.

 

There were thousands of refugees, all walking across the Arizona state, many of them dropping dead simply from dehydration and sun stroke. Douglas will always be amazed how he survived. He, who lived in a land of trees and mist survived while dozens of locals who lived in this desert all their lives did not.

 

Douglas’ aunt Janice had long succumbed to the head wound she obtained when the missiles first struck. “Oh, I have a headache…” she muttered, sitting down. Douglas kept urging her to get back up, to keep moving, but she waved him off. “I just need a moment to rest, dear,” she said quietly, closing her eyes. “Just give me a second…”

 

Douglas always wished he had time to bury her, but he had to keep moving. Water sources were constantly drained by so many others, he didn’t have the time or energy to give her a proper funeral. So Douglas left his aunt where she sat, slumped against a broken wall, looking like she was taking a quick nap.

 

It was supposed to be a graduation gift from his parents, this trip to Arizona. A holiday week to spend with his cool, hippy aunt while visiting the Grand Canyon. Douglas’ younger brothers were insanely jealous, and the last thing he had said to them before boarding the plane was a mocking, “Ha ha, losers!”

 

He didn’t have time to cry, not when he was so constantly hungry and thirsty. There were too many people looking out of their own kids, their own families to care about him. The days were too hot and the nights were insanely cold. The little pathetic bottle water he managed to salvage had been drunk over ten hours ago and from the looks of things, there was no available source in sight for miles.

 

 So four days after the bombs were dropped, Douglas Richardson found a quiet place to die.

 

He spotted a hummingbird sucking nectar out of a desert flower, his lips quirking when he realized what he was looking at. He’d only seen hummingbirds in books and was so surprised to find them so small. When he came close, the hummingbird took off, faster than he could see. Taking that as a sign, he squatted down next to the flowers, gently laid his head to the dusty ground and waited for death to come.

 

He woke up only a few minutes later, in the arms of Martin Crieff, as Martin poured a small stream of water into his mouth. “C’mon, swallow,” the man urged gently.

 

Douglas was more surprised to hearing a British voice than the taste of water. He had heard through word of mouth England was wiped off the map. He expected to never hear somebody from his homeland ever again. He swallowed, his throat nearly contracting from the sheer pain of movement. He fought through it, and drank everything Martin gave him.

 

“That’s a good lad,” Martin smiled. “What’s your name?”

 

“Douglas,” the boy croaked. “Richardson”

 

He'd never know why that made the man smile so widely.


	7. Chapter 7

 

If it were anyone else other than Kieran, Douglas would have killed him.

Kieran, annoyingly, will become one of Martin's most trusted lieutenants in Europe. His skills as a computer hack were unmatched and he was a constant thorn in the side of the machines. If- God forbid- Douglas failed in his mission in ensuring Martin's survival, his next priority would be Kieran.

It took everything Douglas had to hold himself back and allow Kieran  _beat_ the future resistant leader. Martin was squealing something awful but the boy was not causing any real damage. If he had, he would've been on the ground in two seconds, with Douglas' foot on his back, breaking his spine.

Kieran would not be the only person Douglas wanted to kill. Because of Martin's quiet demeanor and small frame, people often though of him as weak, and thus, easily to push over. Martin usually stood up for himself, able to hold his own without any help. Very rarely had ever Douglas felt the need to step in. 

But when he did, he made sure the bodies were never found.

There were only two that ever pushed Douglas that far. Two, he thought were too potential of a threat to Martin's life. The first was a drug dealer that lived on Martin's street. He sold weak heroin to the university kids and generally kept to himself. When it was revealed it was Martin who narced him out to the university police, the dealer vowed revenge. Douglas promptly ran him over with a stolen car.

The second person he was forced to kill was none other than Gordon Shappey.

After his failed attempt to steal GERT-I, Gordon thought the best route to seek retribution on Carolyn was to break Martin's knee-caps. An airline can't fly without its captain, afterall.

Douglas managed to foil the first attempt by breaking the nose of the goon hired to assault Martin. He thought that would be enough of a message to Gordon, telling him to back off. Except a second attempt was made and this time, Douglas decided enough was enough.

Arthur would cry when he learned Gordon's home went up in flames. Carolyn showed enough sympathy for Arthur's sake, though it was no secret she did not mourn Gordon's death. She did, however, openly celebrated when Arthur was made beneficiary of his father's estate, inhereting almost six million pounds in combination of insurance, land, and stocks.

Martin was never the wiser, oblivious that each time he went to his van in the darken car park, someone was waiting for him with the intent to maim. Oblivious to Douglas' interference. He was too happy at the moment to finally be a paid pilot to question any possible suspicions he might have.

Douglas never considered it murder, never lost any sleep over it. He was willing to do anything for Martin. This was nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

Martin did not take the news well.

  


"No," he said, shaking his head. He could barely look at the busted Terminator before him, sparks still erupting from its chest and decapitated head. "No, no, no, no, no, no."

  


"I'm sorry, Martin, but it's the truth," Douglas breathed heavily as he reloaded his shotgun. He hastily wiped at his forehead, smearing the blood to avoid his eyes. Lord, he was tired. He was definitely too old to be doing this.

  


"No," Martin kept going. "No, this is a dream. All a dream, and I'm going to wake up-"

  


"ENOUGH!" Douglas yelled. He pushed himself off the ground, grabbed Martin around the arm roughly. "I know this is hard to believe, Martin, but this is real. It's all real."

  


"That's impossible! Stuff like this is not suppose to exist yet!"

  


"No, not yet, not for maybe another thirty years."

  


"Thirty…" Martin said slowly, his eyebrows made a crease in his forehead. "Are you saying you're from the future?"

  


Douglas sighed. "Yes," he said relieved.

  


"Right…"

  


Martin tried to yank his arm away, but Douglas held strong. After a few failed attempts, Martin opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into Douglas' hand.

  


Douglas had plenty of scars on his body. Cuts and open wounds that nearly killed him. A bite from a small ginger man was not going to stop him. Gritting his teeth, he waited out Martin's rather weak chomp.

  


It wasn't until he broke through skin and drew blood did Martin finally draw back. He hunched in guiltily at Douglas' stare, briefly touching the side of his mouth with his tongue where blood had gathered. "Please…"

  


"I'm not going to hurt you," Douglas said, releasing Martin's arm. "I wouldn't dare."

  


"I don't understand," Martin frowned, rubbing his wrist. "Why was that thing after me? What's going on?"

  


Douglas stared down at the T-101. The damn thing nearly crushed Martin's throat until Douglas shot it point blank in the face. If Douglas had been only a second late... "Have you heard of Cyberdyne?"

  


"What? Yes, of course I have. They make electronics, nearly everyone I know has a laptop made by them-"

  


"They also made this," Douglas kicked the Terminator, his foot making a dull hollow noise against it. "And in less than two years time, they will be the cause of three billion deaths on the planet."

  


Martin made a whining noise. "Douglas..."

  


"Look at it, Martin! Stop acting so damn ignorant and look at what's in front of you!" Roughly, he grabbed Martin by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him over. Martin didn't fight him and that made Douglas even angrier. "This thing was designed to kill and hunt humans. This particular one was made to hunt and kill _you_."

  


"Why? I can't even afford a Cyberdyne computer, why would it want me?"

  


"Because one day you will lead the Revolution," Douglas said, cocking the shotgun with practice ease, making Martin flinch from the unfamiliar sound. "And I am here to make sure you live to do so."


	9. Chapter 9

 

Martin didn't say much on the drive home. He stared out the window with such an odd look on his face, Douglas thought he might have gone catotonic. As long as he was alive and breathing, Douglas can handle the rest. He can admit it couldn't be easy, suddenly learning you are the future savior of the world.

He pulled into his driveway, quietly observing the house for any disturbances. He seriously doubted Skynet had the ability to send more than one T-101 into the past. The amount of energy it took just to send Douglas back, theoretically, was equivelant to that of a hundred and fifty lightning bolts. Not even these machines, all deciding on one choice, could provide that much electricity over and over.

Still, Douglas told Martin to stay in the car as he quickly checked the outside area, looking for clues. He could hear his neighbor's dog, Snuffles, playing in the backyard behind the fence. "It's safe," Douglas announced, motioning for Martin to come out of the car.

Martin frowned, still upset. "How can you tell?"

"All dogs naturally fear the machines and will bark in their presence. The neighbor's dog is quiet."

Still frowning, Martin got out of the car like weights were surgically attached to his legs. Douglas hadn't seen him that miserable since the last girl he asked out laughed in his face. Taking him gently by the shoulder, Douglas steered Martin into the house.

He put his future leader into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. When he turned towards the fridge, thinking perhaps of a ham sandwich, Martin asked quietly, "Was Helena ever your wife?"

Douglas stiffened for only second. He didn't expect that to be the first of questions. "No," he said finally. "Helena was just a front."

Martin made a disgusted noise. "I can't believe you lied to her like that."

"I didn't," Douglas continued, making his way to the fridge and opening it. He took out the ham and cheese and bread. "There are actually people in this world who believe the world is going to end. Helena is one of them. I told her of Skynet and she believed me. She's in Mexico right now, making preparations when you finally take over."

Martin gaped, his mouth floundering for a few long moments. "Mexico?"

"It's one of the few places on Earth that remain mostly untouched by the nuclear fallout. As well as South America, parts of Africa-"

"England?"

Douglas finished the sandwich and brought it over while shaking his head. "No. Every major military power is wiped off the map."

_"God,"_ Martin moaned, putting his head in his hands, shaking.

Douglas pushed the plate with the sandwich on it towards him. "Eat. It'll make you feel better."

"Why me?" Martin finally snapped, bringing his head up. He was very near tears. "I can't fight. I don't know how to use a gun. I have no military training... I can't even get  _you_ to follow orders! What makes you think I can do this? What makes you think you have the right person?"

"I know I have the right person."

He slapped his hand violently on the table, rattling the dish from the force. "Stop it! This is impossible! I'm not a military leader, Douglas! What makes me so goddamn special?"

Douglas let him tire himself out. The anger and downright horror slowly ebbed away, curiosity taking over as Martin waited for Douglas' answer.

Calmly, Douglas said, "You gave me a message, to tell you for when I came back here."

Martin's stomach clenched at this.

"I'm sorry, Martin," Douglas recited carefully. "for the burdens you are about to recieve. But you must be strong, for the lives of every person on Earth now depends on you and your actions. There is no fate but what we make."

Martin gave out a harsh, bitter laugh. "That's the message?  _Sorry, sucks to be you?_ Seriously, that's all I have to say? " He shook his head. "And what the hell does 'no fate' mean? Was I being sarcastic?" _  
_

Douglas reached over and gently grasped Martin's shoulder, squeezingly lightly. "It means, that the future is not set in stone. There is no fate but what we make ourselves."

"What are you saying?" Martin said, wiping his eyes. "Can we stop this future from happening? Is that even possible?"

"Jesus Christ, Martin, I traveled through fucking _time._ So yes, I say anything's possible."

Martin gave out another harsh laugh, this one sounding less bitter.

"Eat," Douglas encouraged, pushing the plate back in front of him. "Gather your strength. We have a long road ahead of us."


	10. Chapter 10

What _he remembered best was the smell. That constant smell of smoke, flame, and wet metal. It was everywhere, no matter where he stepped, seeping into the back of his throat. It was like sucking on a copper coin piece every hour of every day._

_No matter where you looked, there were skulls. Perfectly clean, white skulls. Whenever Douglas' foot collided with them, they made the most wonderful morbid sound. Like bells, they were. Kick them hard enough and they crumbled._

_As horrific as it was, Douglas learned it was better to enjoy the little things. That's what Arthur taught him. Because if he focused on everything that was wrong, it would lead him straight to suicide within a matter of days._

_Bell-skulls. The unofficial name made him giggle._

_In this dream he walked through the underground barracks. No matter where he went, where he was stationed, it was all the same. People were either starving, cold or sick. Someone was always crying, always mourning over something. It was dirty and grimy and nobody was allowed to shout- not even children- unless it was an emergency._

_Douglas chose a quiet spot to sit down and rest, shifting his rifle so it wouldn't jostle his back. For a few seconds he let his mind drift, just quietly enjoying his moment of peace. When that got boring, he reached into his front pocket._

_Douglas hadn't seen Martin for at least a year now. Last he heard, the General was directing troops somewhere in Canada, trying to take back the far North. Douglas didn't mind. He had his picture to keep him company._

_Douglas stole the picture from Arthur years ago. Arthur's little book of photographs was one thing he coveted deeply and never allowed anybody to touch. Most of them were of his mum, an aeroplane, and some strange little dog. The rest were of either Arthur himself, or the runway of Fitton airport._

_Considering Douglas couldn't walk past a field without it covered in human remains, those photos were the ones he loved the best._

_There was one photo of Martin. He was in his pilot uniform, clutching his hat like he expected someone off-screen to snatch it away from him. His head was titled up, displaying an air of pride and confidence. There was just the tiniest of smiles on his lips, the smallest of twinkle in his eye._

_"I took that on his very first day as captain," Arthur said, grinning. "He had me retake it four times because he didn't want to be smiling in his photo. Said it was unprofessional."_

_Douglas would always feel guilty whenever he saw Arthur look through the album, wondering if he misplaced the photo in between the pages. It was a small loss, Arthur will admit. It only made him protect the rest of his photographs even harder._

_There wasn't a day that gone by when Douglas didn't look at this picture of Martin. He memorized every wrinkle, every crease in clothing, every frickle. Every time he looked at this photo, he felt pious._

Pious _, Douglas giggled harshly. He knew many others around here still tried to hold on to their Sunday prayers, coveted their copies of the Bible. He had nothing against that._

_But he knew how odd it sounded, if he admitted this to anyone. When others wanted to follow in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, Douglas wanted to follow Martin's._

_Nobody knew why dogs barked in the presence of the machines. They were not trained to respond, it was all instinctive. The moment Douglas heard their guard dogs barking, he quickly shoved the photo away and surged to his feet._

_Plama rilfe in hand, Douglas ran down the hall, passing screaming women and children. Up ahead he could hear the familiar noise of men dying, of guns firing. Once he determined he was close enough, he ducked behind a wooden crate, and aimed._

_He was able to surprise the first T-101 that came around the corner, shooting rapidly until its head came clean off. The next terminator was not so gullible and tossed a grenade in Douglas' direction._

_He managed to duck away in time but the explosion still knocked him off his feet. He landed awkwardly, dislocating his shoulder in the process. He cried out._

_From the ground, he helplessly watched as two more terminators come into view, shooting everything in sight. When one of them noticed him on the ground, they pointed their gun right at him-_

Douglas jerked awake.

After spending so many years sleeping on cots, the floor, and any other soft surface he could find, sleeping in a bed was still foreign to him. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked the time- 1:23- and decided he wasn't going to sleep anymore tonight.

He got up, stretching his limbs and grimacing. The youth he dreamt of was a sore reminder of his age and he heard it in every pop of his bones. Lord, what he wouldn't give to be ten years younger.

Quietly he treaded downstairs in search of tea. He heard the quiet hums of the television before he saw it. He came into the living room and saw Martin sitting down on the couch, with his knees brought up to his chin, staring intensely at the screen.

"Cyberdyne just announced its new computer system," Martin said quietly. "They hope to have it connected to every home in America by next year."

It has been nearly three days since Martin discovered he was The hope of the future. Douglas given him some space, let him come to terms. He hadn't run away, which was a good sign.

"We have to do something, Douglas," Martin continued, sounding broken. "We can't let them do this."

"And what, pray tell, do you expect us to do?"

"I don't know... we could tell them-"

"Tell them?" Douglas scoffed. "You honestly believe a multi-billionaire company is going to believe two random men babbling about the impending apocalypse?"

"The machine, the T-something we buried. We could show them that-"

"Martin,  _no_." Douglas went over and switched off the tv. "I understand your concern, but my primary mission here is to protect  _you_. And I will not risk your life or your limbs on a  _chance_  we could prevent the future war."

Martin surged to his feet. "Three billion lives, Douglas! Three billion! You're telling me that's not worth dying for?"

"If it were just my life on the line, yes, but not yours! You are too important!"

Douglas twisted around and stalked to the kitchen, ignoring Martin's portests on the way there. Martin kept trying to step in front of him, trying to exert his authority like he would as captain on Gerti. It wasn't working and it only made Douglas angrier.

"So you're telling me we do nothing? Nothing as the world burns?" Martin yelled at him. "We have the ability to stop this, Douglas, to stop everything! Nobody has to die. What's the point of coming back in time, a chance to change the world and not use it? What about Carolyn? What about Arthur? Would you let them die-"

"YES!" Douglas surged forward, getting into Martin's space, forcing him to back against a wall. Martin flinched like a frightened animal, eyes wide in fear, he braced himself. "I would let them die if it means keeping you safe! I would gladly watch them BURN if it means you get to see tomorrow!"

Those poisonious words hanged in the air. Though it was the truth, Douglas thought he may have gone too far. Either way, at least now Martin understood why-

"Stand down, soldier."

Douglas felt like he was just slapped. "What?"

The horrified look that was presented on Martin's face only a few seconds earlier melted away. Something cold and deadly settled into his eyes. "Did I fucking stutter? I said, STAND DOWN."

Immediately Douglas backed away.

Martin stepped away from the wall, curling his fists into tight balls at his side. "If I am your so-called leader, then you  _will_  follow  _my_  command! Understood?"

"Martin-"

_"Is that fucking understood?"_

Douglas clamped his mouth shut. He could hear his heart beating rapidly, blood roaring in his ears. He was given an order and he must obey. Slowly, he nodded.

Martin waited just long enough to ensure Douglas was not going to speak up again and said, "You want to ensure my survival- for what? So I can step away and allow this damn apocalypse to happen? Are you even listening to yourself? If I am to save the human race, then first I must let three billion die. That's your logic. I think not, Douglas. If I am to be the leader of resistance, then my first job is to make sure the future does not come to pass. You want me to live to see tomorrow, then stand by my side and  _help me_ make sure tomorrow comes!"

His voice cracked on those last words but it didn't matter. Three days ago all Martin could do was moan and clutch his head, unable to comprehend how  _big_  his mission in life was. During the first year Douglas had known Martin, he saw him as a child, a child who still needed to hold someone's hand to guide him through life.

Something changed.

Standing before him was no child. This was the man whose footsteps Douglas would gladly follow into Hell and back.

He resisted the urge to kneel.

"Of course," Douglas said quietly. "Anything."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never intended to make this D/M, but I love Sarah Connor/Kyle Reese and I couldn't let go of my own try at it. I wanted to write this so badly. For those who prefer to keep this fic gen, ignore this chapter.

 

 

There were so many things people in this timeline took for granted. Food, safety, clothes, proper shoes. Douglas knew his younger self was among those who'd never worry about where their next meal was coming from, but he'd soon learn the constant pangs of hunger and fear.

Douglas had forgotten he could indulge in certain luxuries without worrying about others. For example, hot water.

Very rarely was hot water ever used for bathing anymore. It was not worth wasting firewood simply for one person's comfort. Only the sick were allowed to have such a luxury, and even then they would only have a bucket full.

Douglas stood underneath the spray of the shower, uncaring he's been in there long enough that the mirror was dripping wet with condensation. He wasn't going to leave till the water turned cold or until his skin couldn't handle it anymore. Which ever came first.

Warm, warm, warm, warm, warm, warm, warm, warm.

The shower provided more than just an endless stream of water, it also provided  _privacy,_ something very rarely come upon in the future. Ever tried having a wank in front of twenty other soldiers? The unwritten rule was if you happened to hear someone, pretend you don't. Everyone was always cold, wet, or hungry. Don't take away the simple pleasure of masturbating by bringing it to their attention.

Douglas palmed his cock, tugging on it lightly, barely stimulating it. He didn't need to, he was already half-hard. Bracing on one arm, leaning against the tiles, he jacked himself with rough, fast strokes.

Years taught him to keep quiet and he bit his lip to keep the grunts from escaping.

Normally in this situation someone would bring out a tattered copy of Playboy and pass it around to share. Douglas never needed it- never wanted it. There were stains on those magazines he did not wish to touch- he had his own stimulation.

"Martin," he barely whispered, bucking into his hand.

How often did Douglas looked at that photograph? An hour a day, two maybe? The image was burned in his memory, he could see it every time he closed his eyes. Martin, with his barely concealed smile, creating the smallest of wrinkles around his mouth. The laugh-lines around his eyes gave him away. His hair was lightly mussed from the gentle wind, one or two strands sticking up from his otherwise perfect hairdo.

He was standing outside, on a nearly cloudless day. Even in this stilled photo, Douglas could see how excited Martin was, how proud. Douglas always wondered what he was thinking during that moment.

Just as Douglas felt himself reach his peak, he abruptly pulled his hand away.

This part was always the hardest. At least this time Douglas could switch over to cold water and let that take away his erection instead of standing there for twenty minutes, trying to calm down.

Douglas never let himself finish. Because Martin was not his to have.

It wasn't right, masturbating to the image of Martin. He was his leader, his General, his saviour. This was sick and he shouldn't be doing it.

The cold water was a relief on Douglas' abused, over-heated skin. His erection withered quickly, and once it more or less sunk back into the foreskin, Douglas turned off the shower.

He dressed, still fighting down the woes of feeling unsatisfied. He'll get over it. He always did.

When he left the bathroom he noticed the house was a little too quiet. He did not hear the neighboor's dog, and he'd been teaching Martin how to shoot a gun. If something happened, Douglas would have heard it.

Reagrdless, the silence bothered him and he sought out Martin.

Douglas gently knocked on Martin's room door, opening it without waiting for an answer. "Martin?"

Martin was laying on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He turned his head when Douglas entered. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. "Just thinking."

"Oh."

Douglas felt awkward. In the past, if they were in the office of MJN, Douglas would have weasled the thoughts out of him. Get him to articulate and act like the leader he was meant to be. Martin didn't need his prompting anymore. If he didn't feel like sharing, then Douglas should fuck off.

"Douglas, come sit with me."

That was another thing that changed. Martin hardly ever now tacked on a 'please' to his requests. He seemed to have come to terms that Douglas will follow his intructions without question

Martin sat up, pulling his legs in to give Douglas room on the bed. Martin positioned himself in a more casual pose, with his legs crossed and leaning his back against the wall. Douglas chose to keep his back straight, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

Martin giggled at this. "Wow... two weeks ago, I could barely get you to file a flight plan. Now you're willing to do anything I want."

Douglas would have argued that, told him he did not follow orders blindly, that he was not a  _dog_. But he knew if Martin ordered him to jump off a bridge, he would probably do it.

Instead of saying that, Douglas said, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Just felt like talking," Martin said, stretching his back against the headboard. "I feel like I barely know you."

"I've told you everything you needed to know."

"I'm not talking about just the future. Not just Skynet. Tell me about  _you_ , Douglas. How much do I really know about you? How did we meet?"

Douglas felt his throat go dry. That was not exactly a story someone shares around the camp fire. Besides, Martin did not take the news of Carolyn's death easy. Telling him the finer, messier details of Judgement Day was probably not a good idea. He would find out about it soon enough.

So instead, Douglas chose to tell a different tale. "At the office of MJN."

Martin rolled his eyes. "That's not-"

"I knew the only way I could get close to you was to be your fellow pilot. It was simple, forging the necessary papers for Carolyn to hire me. Now all I needed to do was wait for you to come to me."

Thankfully, Martin did not push Douglas to talk about their real, first meeting. Instead, he said, "I remember that day. You insulted my height. And my hair. And my age."

"I couldn't be obvious," Douglas said, shrugging. "It wouldn't have made any sense if I accepted you without a fight. I had to gain your trust first, otherwise when the time came, you would run."

 

 

 

It was easy, so terribly easy to forge the proper papers in order to get his foot inside MJN's door. It came as a rather startling moment when he finally met Carolyn. She was nothing as Arthur described her and it took some backpeddaling to change this mental image of her.

If this was how she was like, Douglas wondered about Martin.

His General gave him an idea how his younger self was. He warned Douglas not to expect too much of young Martin for he was, "A bit of a twat."

So Douglas kept his distance, using his time to establish trade among gun smugglers. His mind was never that far from Martin and he ticked off the days, counting down till his General appeared. Needless to say, on the day of, butterflies ran rampant in Douglas' stomach.

He kept it in check. Years of keeping his calm under stressful situations prepared him for this moment. He hoped.

Carolyn opened the door to the portacabin. Douglas' heart automatically sped up.

"Douglas, Arthur, I want you to meet your new captain. This is Martin. Martin Crieff."

Years of experience did not prepare him for this. Martin stepped through the door, clearly stamping down on a grin. Douglas has seen that grin on his General before. It was his, "I got you now, fucker" grin. It was a sure sign of victory whenever Douglas saw that on him.

But this Martin was not his General of the future. Not yet. It was time to toughen him up. Before Martin could open his mouth and give a polite greeting, Douglas piped up with, "Surely you can't be serious, Carolyn. This scrawny boy? Throw him back and see what else emerges."

That sort of insult would have earned Douglas a punch to the face. Instead, Martin sputtered and gaped. "W-what?"

"Oh, it speaks. Not very clearly, though."

"Do not speak to your captain like that!"

"When I see him, I will."

Douglas waited, wanting to see if Martin will order him down. Instead, the young man sputtered, then looked to Carolyn for backup.

Carolyn held up her hands as if saying, 'Don't look at me, I've got nothing.'

Martin pulled his attention back on Douglas, his face red with irritation and indignation. Douglas wondered if this was it, if Martin was about to show his true colors and jump into the role destiny prepared him for.

And then Arthur ruined it.

"Hey, Skipper? I can call you Skipper, right? Brilliant! Look, I have this camera here and I thought I could take a picture of you, you know, as a celebration of your first day here! Wouldn't that be great? Yes!"

Douglas never learned how Arthur managed to breath whenever he went off on a tangent like that. Arthur didn't bother giving Martin a chance to reply, simply grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside.

Carolyn looked on amused. "What's with you Douglas?" She asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Is having a younger man as your captain going to be too hard for you?"

Douglas' heart was beating a mile a minute. It felt wonderful. "Not in the least," he answered truthfully.

He watched Arthur and Martin from a careful distance, too far to hear yet close enough to understand what was going on. Arthur positioned Martin in front of the barbed fence, with the airfield as his background. Martin posed with his chin high. He was smiling.

Douglas bit his lip.

Once the picture was taken, Martin suddenly changed his mind, taking of his hat and gesturing to Arthur to try again. He was still smiling.

Once the second picture was taken, Martin shook his head, rubbing at his cheeks as if that would stop him from grinning. He held up a finger, asking for one more picture. Just one more.

Martin brushed back his hair with one hand, straightened his tie and smoothed down his uniform. Puffing out his chest and tilting his chin up, he managed to get the picture he wanted.

Douglas wondered if this what Neil Armstrong felt like, standing there on the moon. For that second in which Arthur pressed down on the camera button, Douglas' heart stopped. He felt small, insignificant, standing in front of a presence he would never come to understand, not even if he lived to be a million years old.

Douglas was not a religious man, yet as soon as Martin walked over to Arthur to check the picture he closed his eyes and silently thanked God.

 

 

 

Red tinged Martin's cheeks. He glanced downward, suddenly too embarrassed to look at Doulgas in the eye. "The way you describe me, it almost sounds like you're in love with me."

Douglas did not sputter. He has commanded troops and sent men to their possible deaths. He did not sit around, pondering on a decision. Even if Douglas was proven wrong, he will take his failure into account and learn from it, not mourn it.

He considered not telling Martin for only a second.

"We met in the Arizona desert, Martin."

Martin lifted his head, startled by this.

"I remember those days, watching dozens fall to the ground and not get back up. I remember hearing through the radio how missiles destroyed nearly every single major city on Earth. It was the end of the world, Judgement Day. I had nothing left. Then out of nowhere, there you were, rounding thousands up to take to safety. You didn't just have a safe haven, but you had food, water, and information. For days all we did was run around like headless chickens and somehow, you effortlessly brought us all together. We were no longer victims, but fellow soliders under your commmand.

I would have died, if not for you, Martin. You did more than just save my life, you gave me a reason to live for.

And I knew I would love you till the day I die."

Douglas felt he said too much.

He quickly turned away, angry with himself. He always told himself Martin was not his to have. He was his General and that's all he'll ever be. Telling him this did nothing.

Douglas surged to his feet, embarrassed anger boiling inside him. He may have just ruined their friendship, may have just ruined their trust. He stepped forward to leave, wishing to minimize the damage he just inflicted. Perhaps find a hole and bury himself in it.

Martin's hand grasped his wrist, halting him. Douglas could have easily pulled away, the grip was weak enough.

Martin stood up from the bed to stand in front of him. Douglas shifted his gaze away but Martin grasped his jaw, turning his head towards him.

Martin's eyes were wet and immensely  _sad._ Those eyes could spot a T-101 from over a hundred feet away, and were never fooled by their human appearance. That sharp gaze was now focused on Douglas, taking him in with perfect clarity.

Martin leaned up, brushing his lips across Douglas' swiftly. He did it again and again until Douglas finally responded by bending his head and accepting what was being given to him.

Douglas pushed forward, deepening the kiss, pleasure blooming so swiftly he thought he would faint. He wanted to savour every second. The back of Martin's legs bumped into the bed and he nearly stumbled backwards. Douglas wrapped an arm around his waist, preventing him from falling back.

The sudden jerk seperated them and Martin's hand gripped Douglas' shoulders, gasping in surprise. Douglas merely moved his lips to Martin's neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could touch.

For a while Martin hanged there, trembling as teeth and tongue made declicious sensations across his skin. When his neck started to become oversentisized, he moved his head, capturing Douglas' lips and murmuring, "Douglas, make me feel good."

It wasn't a command but Douglas took it as one. He flopped Martin onto his back, taking no time to crawl on top of him, reclaiming his mouth, kissing him fiercely while pushing up his shirt.

Martin's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close. He gasped as fingers pinched his nipples, as fingernails scrapped ticklishly across his ribs. "Douglas," he kept saying over and over.

_Christ_ , Douglas was not going to last long, not when he had Martin underneath him, moaning and writhing against him like that. Douglas was impossibly hard, his prick straining inside his soft cotton trousers. If Martin dared to touch him, he was sure he'd come within a few seconds.

No, he was going to attend to Martin's pleasure first. He cupped Martin, loving the way his General jumped at the contact. With one hand, he pulled down Martin's trousers, then his pants, grasping at the hard prick and pumping it lightly.

Martin broke the kiss to arch against him and Douglas took that as an opprotunity to pull away and lean down. He heard Martin's brief, confused, "Huh?" right before Douglas swallowed him down.

"Fuck!" Martin snapped. His hands slipped into Douglas' hair, gripping so tightly Douglas thought he was going to be pulled off. The hands relaxed a moment later, then clamped onto Douglas' shoulders just as tightly.

Taking that as a sign to continue, Douglas sucked as hard as he could, pausing every few moments to lavish certain sensitive spots with his tongue. Martin writhed on the bed, a brilliant sight Douglas wanted to keep in his memory forever. He never wanted this to end.

It didn't take long for a brilliant flush of red spread over Martin's chest, his neck, signalling his coming orgasm.

It was then Martin tried to pull him off. "Douglas... I'm-I'm close, you need to-"

Douglas hallowed his cheeks as much as he could, bearing down until his nose was buried in Martin's pubic hair. From above, with his hands gripping the sheets around his head, Martin gave a soft little whimper and came inside Douglas' throat.

Douglas swallowed quickly, the necessity of breathing becoming problematic. Once he was done, he slowly pulled back, pressing his lips tightly to wring out the last bits of pleasure. He pinched the tip with his lips and sat back on his heels to look.

It was a glorious sight. Martin, with his head on its side, his eyes closed, forehead damp with sweat was almost too much to handle. It wasn't until Martin shifted, letting out the softest of groans that Douglas finally lost it. With a low grunt, Douglas bent over as his orgasm took hold. It took a while for the shakes to finally ebb and when he reopened his eyes, Martin was up on his elbows, staring at him.

Martin licked his lips, his gaze on Douglas' crotch. "Did you...? Did you come without being touched?

Douglas gave a sort of embarrassed laugh. "You have no idea how you looked," he answered truthfully. "Of course I came."

Martin smiled breathlessly. He pushed himself up, practically throwing himself on top of Douglas, forcing him onto his back and kissing him furiously. "No fair," he said in between kisses. "No fair. I didn't get a chance to..."

He cupped Douglas' crotch and the man gave a sort of hiss at contact. Still too sensitive for such a touch. Despite the noise, Martin kept stroking him through his wet trousers.

"C'mon, get hard for me."

Douglas gasped at him. "Martin- I can't-" Not so soon after coming, not so soon after his aborted wank in the shower. It was a damn miracle he was able to get it up twice within an hour. He was done for the night. Hell, he was done for the  _week_. He was not so young anymore.

God, irony bore down on him. Technically he was younger than Martin. It was a joke that made his head hurt.

As Martin shoved his hand into Douglas' trousers, Douglas tried to inform him it was impossible, he was-

"Douglas," Martin hissed in that infuriating commaning voice of his. It was the same voice he used when he was commaning troops of thousand. Oh God. " _Get hard_  for me."

Douglas gritted his teeth. Inner turmoil ate at him, the need to follow the command and the actual physical limitations of his body fought each other. Martin was still stroking him while kissing his neck. Pushy - little - fuck -

It was fucking painful, barely pleasurable as slowly, very slowly Douglas felt himself become hard in Martin's insistant hand. He was gasping for air at this point, drowning in the sensation. His whole world was nothing but this, just him and his General and- and-

Fuck,  _fuck_. If he died right now, he would go with a full heart.

"Please," Douglas begged, twisting his head so he could say it against Martin's ear. "Don't let it turn out this way."

He doesn't know why he said that. Even if they succeeded in their plan of stopping Cyberdyne, there was no guarantee Judgement Day would not happen. It was more likely they simply delayed it.

Martin said nothing which Douglas was grateful for. He wasn't sure he could handle a false promise or even the truth. Instead, Martin kissed him ever so gently on the lips, lingering for a ridiculously long time before pulling back. He grasped his own dick, giving it a few tugs, returning it to its full length.

Douglas could not believe it. It hadn't even been five minutes and Martin was hard again. Not fair.

Martin positioned himself so he could hold both his dick and Douglas' in one hand. He suddenly frowned, realizing his hand was a bit too small to properly hold to both of them. Without even looking at Douglas, Martin commanded, "Hold them."

Douglas groaned in frustration. His arm was like a ten ton weight, taking what felt like an eternity to move downwards. Martin moved his hand away as Douglas gripped them both. His dick felt like it was on fire.

Martin suddenly moved, startling him. He rearranged his grip and held tighter despite the pain. Martin was unrelentless. Hands on each side of Douglas' torso, Martin leaned over him, moving his hips so both of their cocks slid against each other roughly. The slippery remains of Douglas' release was all that lubricated their actions.

It should've been nothing more than a three minute torture for Douglas. He'd expected it. However, pain was far from his mind. Having Martin lean over him, his eyes closed in obvious wonderful enjoyment was the most erotic fucking thing Douglas has ever seen.

Pain quickly faded away to pleasure and soon, Douglas was bucking his hips up desperately, wanting to find release.

His whole body was thrumming with it, his earlier orgasm delaying this one. It made the sensations last longer, more intensifying, and Douglas swore to God his eyesight was slowly going.

He was also aware he was saying things, speaking one word sentences and aborted thoughts. He could only remember half of the things he was saying.

"Love you, love you..."

His lips kept clumsily meeting Martin's, too busy to coordinate. It was wonderful, so wonderful, he didn't want this to stop, not ever...

Martin gave a low groan, jerking his hip one last time, spilling his seed over Douglas' hand and stomach. It was wonderfully filthy and Douglas didn't care if he didn't come, not when he had Martin over him like this, gasping and flushed red.

Martin blinked tiredly, his eyes drifting down to Douglas' crotch. He looked back up and in a breathless tone said, "Finish."

God, how could Douglas ever thought Martin's pushiness was an annoyance? Martin leaned down and kissed him again as he pumped himself to completion. His orgasm was less dramatic than the first, barely shooting out a stream of semen.

Exhausted, Douglas flopped his arm down to the side. He was done. There was nothing more he could do tonight even if he wanted to.

He was happy.

Martin pressed his lips against Douglas' cheek.

"I'll try," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though there's no proper story for this, I love writing this fic.


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